A Prelude to a Second Chance
by SimplexityJane
Summary: Magneto meets a new- or very old- friend.


"Mind if I join you for a game?" The voice is young, feminine, a human woman of perhaps thirty years old who's come to the park to hear old war stories. Her getup is a little strange, more appropriate in a fashion magazine from the late sixties (still elegant, though, he can see that), but he nods and they set out to play.

She's absolutely atrocious, blundering her way through strategies clearly learned in a book. If he had to hazard a chance she's never played before in her life.

"Do you think the people here know who you used to be, Eisenhardt?" she asks, and her eyes briefly flare Phoenix red. "Don't worry, I won't report you. I have a vested interest in changing things here, and you can help me with that." How she knows the old name is of no importance- no one here knows he is- was- Magneto

"I'm an old man; I simply wish to live out the rest of my human days in peace. Why would a young revolutionary like you try to recruit me, a failed general of an army that has been destroyed?"

"Because I have a friend who can give you a chance to undo the mistakes of your youth. Not destroying Shaw before he destroyed all your world, being able to meet Charles as a friend and not a colleague, prevent the horror that was Cuba- stop the Cure, though I doubt you should do it the same way. Killing a child should never be a viable option."

And he knows this, has faced the demons of his past and accepted what power did to him. He never craved it like Charles did in the depths of his mind, but once he gained an ounce he wanted more at any cost. It would have been better if he had just let the missiles sink into the ocean, he knows now. They were embroiled in war with each other when they should have been focusing on preparing all mutants for what could happen. All those people, angry at the world with no place to go because they weren't strong enough for Erik and too bitter for Charles. He regrets that every day.

"What would this entail?" he asks. She smiles, and it's surprising how much she looks like a young blue Raven, even though they are two different people. Raven was always taller- he wonders where she is now, turned informant against him after he abandoned her like he abandons everything he wishes he could keep.

"Your consciousness goes back, not your body. There shouldn't be any complications, though your mental shielding will need to be explained to Charles. You should go back to May of 1962, a month before the first confrontation with Shaw." She meets his eyes steadily, older than her years. There are scars on her hands from knife fights. "I know back then you wanted to see him die, but for a mutant like Shaw drowning is one of the only things that'll really work and- after fifty years, Erik, don't you think having one revenge is enough?"

"How-" He wonders if she can manipulate realities, like young Scarlett (who was named Wanda but read American books in her spare time until she found two heroines she fell in love with), and knows him because of it.

She slides a photograph across the table. In it, two young men- Charles, a few years after Cuba going by his hair, but he's standing, and Erik- stand with the same woman, a young boy on Erik's hip and two children standing in the front, all of them smiling at the camera even though his own is rather disconcerting.

She's smiling.

There's writing on the back. Magneto, Professor X, Hermes, Quicksilver, the Scarlett Witch and David, February 23 1965, David's 2nd birthday. Two other hands, one lopsided and youthful and one precise, write over it respectively, Mars, below David's name both times, and, Because a mutant really needs a codename at two. He recognizes the second as Charles', which is surprising in how bitter it makes him feel. Charles did not deserve to die like he did.

"I take it you're Hermes, then," he says, and then, "Well that explains the clothes at least. I'm assuming alternate reality?"

She nods.

"And an even longer story than yours. Here." She hands him a quarter. "It always lands on heads, just toss it in the air and you'll be back. And this time make sure you don't lose Darwin to the astral plane."

She disappears without fanfare, as if she was never there, and he twirls the coin through his fingers- the metal still calls to him, though in a hum instead of a song now- before making a decision.

"Call it."


End file.
